


Stitches

by pomp-adourable (pumpkin_cheesecake)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkin_cheesecake/pseuds/pomp-adourable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Teddy Roosebelt is damaged in battle and does not make it through respawn, Engineer is heartbroken and at a loss. Heavy attempts to helps his teammate with some assistance from Medic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Respawn

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Language. Mild drug and alcohol use. Fluffy Heavy/Medic. Engineer has a family. Medic is an ex-Nazi. Brief appearance by Sniper, the unwashed hippie. This is an Engineer- & Medic-centric fic. Forgive my google-translate-german.

Most of the BLU team had been desensitized to the concept of “death”. They lost teammates every day, trusted allies usually dying horrific, bloody, and violent deaths, only to awake in the respawn room with the aftershock of a vivid nightmare. The usual side effect was a headache and occasionally nausea, but otherwise everything was put back together, just like it had never happened. No one feared the death, just the pain. Even in the heat of battle, there was always a Medic or a Dispenser to heal wounds and repair damage. Pain was always fleeting and damage was never permanent. 

As long as you were human.

Explosions were the nastiest way to die. Tearing, hot, and loud, the blistering heat and ear shattering resonance were so powerful they seemed to carry over into respawn, if only for a moment. It was even worse when you utterly did not see it coming. 

The BLU Engineer hardly had enough time to register the sticky bombs that had been laid out on the other end of the Teleporter before they ignited in a raw discharge of twisted shrapnel and fire. The pain was excruciating, flesh ripping, skin sizzling and bones buckling from the blast. But temporary death came quickly, the feeling of intense pressure and blackness that lasted both an instant and an eternity, before the Engineer woke with a shuddering gasp on a cot in the resupply room. Just as he never got used to being shredded to tiny pieces, the act of resurrection never got any less shocking. 

The fiery pain was a slow burn now as the Engineer carefully contemplated his next move, while remaining completely still on the suddenly comfortable cot. His senses were slowly reawakening as he debated returning to the field to aid his team, or staying right where the hell he was and waiting for the Administrator to announce what he predicted to be a BLU loss. Tinkering around with a broken Teleporter wasn’t going to reel in a victory at this point in the battle… He was snapped out of his thoughts when the smell of burning cotton reached his nostrils, causing him to lurch up with a panicked jolt.

He quickly rolled off of the cot and stood, his nerves screaming at him not to move so quickly, but his reflexes were louder as they demanded he find the source of the fire. He looked down at himself, eyes searching behind dark tinted goggles for the origin of the smoky grey stench. It didn’t take him long. When he spotted it, he felt his heart detach and fall down into his stomach.

The ammo pouch on his left hip was torn to shreds; the smoldering remains of Teddy Roosebelt were barely holding together inside.


	2. In Vain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in Bee Cave, Texas, 1966

“Dell Conagher, I swear to God if you go through with this, I’m leaving you.”

It was a pretty common threat, coming from her; one Dell had begrudgingly heard dozens of times from his wife over the years, but it had never been acted upon before. She was still with him, after all. But right now, her voice was edging on hysterics, and she never used the Lord’s name in vain. And given the circumstances of the current situation, with his old army footlocker open on the bed, full of dusty schematics, underwear and socks, he had no reason to doubt she was being very serious.

“Don’t swear to God,” he reminded her quietly, looking over his shoulder at her as he folded up a worn down pair of coveralls and tossed them into the trunk. “And get that look off your face. It ain’t very becoming.”

The woman bristled, keeping her ground at the doorway of the bedroom. “Don’t you get smart with me! I only swear to God when I mean it, and right now Dell, you ain’t leaving me much of a choice. You’re just plain leaving me!” Her voice was getting higher as the reality began to set in, punctuated by Dell continuing to silently and calmly fold up his clothes and stash them into the footlocker. He wasn’t going to be swayed by threats. It was time for a new tactic.

Her resolve waning, she crossed the room to stand behind her husband, clasping a hand over his arm to stop his folding. She was a good 5 inches taller than him without heels on, and her bouffant only accentuated her height even more. Right now, the usually pretty and prim Texan woman was starting to come undone at the seams. Her good breeding and good manners were giving way to breaking Commandments and using the word “ain’t”.

Girlfriends had asked her for years what a Southern Belle like her was doing with a BLU collar worker like him. She told them it was because she loved him, of course. She failed to mention the supposed fortune of Australium attached to his last name. She played her part well to convince Dell that she was the perfect housewife that any self respecting Texan man would want. She lived a life of leisure and luxury. She’d never worked a day in her life.

Which was why he couldn’t leave.

“Dell, _please_ ,” her voice strained, saturated with desperation. She wasn’t below begging at this point. “You can’t just pack up your things and abandon your family! Think about me, about your daughter! Who’s going to take care of us if you’re gone? You can’t even tell me where you’re going! What am I supposed to _do_?” Her hand was tight on his arm, her boney fingers trembling and digging into the thick flesh as she shook him urgently.

Dell closed his eyes and set his jaw as he listened to her yammer beside him, counting his breaths as he waited for her to run out of steam. Gently, but firmly, he reached over with his glove clad hand and plucked her wrist away from his arm. Opening his eyes, he looked over and up at her, his blue eyes narrowed, heavy brows pressed together, lips a thin, hard line as he pushed her hand away from him.

“Well, darlin’, I suspect you’re going to have to take care of yourself, for once.” His voice was low and even, and though his face was hard with disgust, his voice held no malice, as easy going as ever. “And I already told you, I’m doing this for our daughter. Trust fund ain’t gonna last forever, and I’m already on BLU’s payroll. I can’t let this opportunity pass up. Someone has to make some money around here and it sure as hell ain’t you.” He snapped the lid of the footlocker closed and flipped the latches shut. “And maybe you could try acting like a mom, for once. Since I know you’re so good at acting and all.”

His wife fell silent.

She stared down at him, her stomach churning with mixed emotions, somewhere between fear and rage. Her pretty face disappeared as it scrunched up into a sneer, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she searched for any last ditch effort.

“I see how it is,” she said coolly, turning her back on him and flicking her hand out to the side. “You can sleep on the couch tonight then. Don’t bother coming in to say goodbye in the morning before you go. I’ll have the door locked.”

Dell’s fists clenched, the rubber of his gloved hand squeaking before he released his grip. It wasn’t worth it, he decided, to argue with her at this point. If she wanted a divorce, that was just fine by him. He wasn’t doing this for her any way. He grabbed the handles on the trunk, hauled it off the bed and headed for the door.

She wanted him to stop and turn around and say he was sorry and that he wasn’t going anywhere. She wanted him to crawl into bed with her, to kiss and make up and then fall asleep. She needed him so much more than he needed her, even though she had tried for the better part of seven years to convince him otherwise. Dell placed the footlocker on the floor just outside the door. Looking back at her with a hard glower, he punched in the lock button on the door handle, stepped into the hallway, and locked himself out.


	3. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A direct continuation of the last chapter. So again, Bee Cave, Texas, 1966

Dell stood in the deafeningly quiet hallway for a few moments, waiting to see what she would do. Part of him expected her to rush the door and try begging again. The other part expected her to remain cold and bitter behind the door between them. When he saw the light under the door flick off and heard the shower in the attached bathroom turn on, he knew she was going to go cry. 

Looking down at the green army footlocker, he sighed, clasping the handles again and heading for the staircase. He wondered if he was supposed to feel bad, but there was a distinct lack of empathy. He knew she wasn’t bawling her pretty eyes out in the shower because she’d lost her husband and partner, but because she was losing a very valuable bank account and status. Dell had figured it out few years too late that he had been duped into a loveless relationship because of his inherited wealth. But he suffered through it, if only for the sake of their daughter. 

He paused at the top of the stairs, looking down at the trunk in his hands. He worried his lip between his teeth a moment before placing the footlocker down near the top step and turning back around in the hallway. He knew it was late, but he felt the need to talk her one last time…

Dell approached the door at the end of the hallway quietly, the wooden floor barely creaking under his boots. While he’d been worried about waking her, he realized there was no reason to fret, as a light shone from the crack under the door and there was a muffled voice coming from behind. He stopped a few feet away, peeling back the yellow rubber glove on his right arm and checking the chronometer attached to his Gunslinger. He grinned. It was way past her bed time, and he was sure she knew it too…

Sliding the glove back in place, he paused a moment before stomping his feet loudly on the hallway floor, grinning when he heard a squeak from behind the door, followed by the scramble and rustle of sheets and the light flicking off, replaced by the dull glow of a nightlight. His grin split into a full smile when he stopped stomping and started walking to the door, taking the handle and slowly turning it, peeking into the bedroom of his little girl.

In the soft radiance of the lantern style night light, he observed that he’d apparently interrupted a tea party. The little wrought iron table he’d made for her was covered in little plastic tea cups and pots and seated in the tiny matching chairs were various stuffed animals. He’d raised her to always put her toys away before bed and she was always very obedient of this rule… He then looked over to the wrought iron princess bed, which he’d also built, to match the tea table, and smiled at the lump under the pale blue sheets that was pretending to sleep. 

Quietly, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a barely audible click, and walked over to the table, collecting the cups and plates and placing them on their designated shelf. He then picked up the stuffed animals by their ears, a horse, pig, and bear, respectively, and made his way over to the bed. He sat on the end, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked down at the lump. Reaching out, he tugged a tiny foot under the sheets and whispered, “I know you’re awake.”

There was a whine as she pulled her foot away, curling up more, before finally flinging the covers off of her head and looking up at her father with a guilty pout. All of the anger Dell had felt in the room a few feet down the hallway disappeared. 

When she saw that he was smiling and not scolding her, she sat up, her short blonde hair mussed up from her quick dive into the bed. Dell placed the stuffed animals he’d collected onto her lap, and she neatly arranged them to sit with their backs against the wall that the bed was pushed up against.

“What are you doing up so late, baby doll?” he asked, watching as she smoothed down the stuffed horses mane.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said softly, her voice quiet as if she were still trying to sneak in a tea party before her parents noticed. “‘Cause you’re leavin’ tomorrow.” She looked up at him, pout returning to her face as she bunched up the covers around her knees.

He sighed through his nose. He never meant to cause her any angst. He knew she was upset, she had told him so through a tearful tantrum she’d had earlier that week, but he also knew she was stronger than most little girls her age. He pushed himself further onto the bed, leaning his back against the wall beside the animals, and pat his lap. She obliged, pushing her white night shirt over her bottom and crawling over to sit in the offered lap, pulling her knees up and resting her head on his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around her, careful to keep his gloved hand crossed over his own arm as he gave her a tight squeeze. He then started combing out her hair with his thick fingers, looking down at her while she looked up at him. 

“You know I don’t want to leave, right?” he asked, tilting his head as he continued his petting.

“I know,” she confirmed, bunching up her nightshirt in her tiny fists. “I know. You have to. But still. What if…” She felt her face screwing up and her throat develop a lump, but she was determined not to cry again. He brushed his fingers against her cheek and pulled her face up to look at him. Leaning down, he pushed her short bangs out of the way before planting a kiss in the center of her forehead. 

“I’ll come back,” he assured her. “Don’t you worry, sugar. I’ll always come back for you. And when this is all over, I’ll never leave your side, got it?” He searched her scrunched up face, watching tiny tears split from her blue eyes, but she didn’t let out a sob. When he’d first broken the news to her that he had to go away for business, she’d been angry. She had pounded those tiny fists against his legs, shouted things he knew she didn’t mean, then locked herself in her bedroom and refused to give him a kiss goodnight. Now, she had accepted the inevitable, and held onto the comfort that he would still call her on the phone and send her presents in the mail. But it still made her throat hurt when she thought about him not being there when she woke up tomorrow morning.

She shifted her position, placing her knees on his thick thighs and pushing herself up to wrap skinny arms around his stocky neck. Pushing her face against his stubbled cheek, she gave him an equally firm kiss, along with a whimper of a sob. 

“Promise!” she demanded against his skin, arms tight against his back. He wrapped his arms around her back, feeling his own throat choke up a bit, and placed his cheek on top of her head as he held her close to his chest, their hearts beating against each other, a fluttering bird against a booming bass. 

“I promise, baby doll,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her hair again as she cried into his neck, feeling hot tears wet his shirt and shoulder as she trembled quietly in his arms. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of not going anywhere. Of staying right where he was. How could he possibly leave this? What in the world was he thinking? But he knew it had to be done. He knew he couldn’t refuse to go, as terribly as he wanted to. He sighed into her hair and simply held her until her sobs dwindled to sniffles and she slumped back down to sit in his lap. 

Her head against his chest, his heartbeat thudding against her ear, she reached out from under his bulky arm to snatch one of the stuffed animals she had so carefully arranged on her bedside. Pulling it between their bodies, she looked down at it a moment before looking back up at her father and squishing it against his chest. 

“Take Teddy?” she requested quietly, blue eyes still wet and full of anxiety. 

Blinking, he too looked down at the toy pressed against his chest. It was a bear, wearing blue corduroy overalls, a yellow hardhat and brown goggles. He’d bought it for her from the boys section of the toy store when she’d claimed it looked just like daddy, and he had to agree that the resemblance was striking. On the car ride home she had asked him why teddy bears were called teddy bears. He’d explained the origins of the toys, saying they were named after 26th President of the United Sates, Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt. She had looked up at him with confused eyes, brows pressed together and simply asked “Roosebelt?” She had been too doggone cute to correct her mispronunciation, so he had nodded and laughed, “Yes, Teddy Roosebelt.” The name had stuck with the toy ever since, and had quickly become her favorite. She carried it everywhere around the house, hid it in her lap under the dinner table and even snuck it to school sometimes.

Now she was offering it to her father with a tearful gaze, as if her precious little heart would break if he refused her. His gloved hand still supporting her back, he gently ran his real thumb over her hand, looking down at her. 

“You really want me to take him? What for?” he asked.

She screwed up her freckled face again, this time in concentration rather than tear suppression. She looked down at the bear, her brows knotted together as she gave it a gentle little shove against his chest. 

“’Cause if I can’t be by your side right now, I want you to keep him by your side instead. And if you take him now that means you’ll have to come home to give him back to me…” It was her own last ditch effort, much more effective than her mothers had been. She was clever, just like a Conagher should be, but she wasn’t begging him to stay, she was begging him to come back.

How could he say no to that?

Dell smiled and gently plucked the bear from her grasp, placing it on the bed beside his hip, patting its soft little hardhat affectionately. “I’ll make sure we both come back, baby doll. Don’t you worry.” She looked immensely relieved, wiping her wet eyes with her little fingers as she gazed up at her father, smile tugging at her lips. He leaned down, kissing her forehead once again before patting her leg. “Time for bed, darlin’.”

She let out a huff through her nose and flopped sideways off of his legs onto the mattress, before crawling back toward her pillow. He pushed himself off of the bed, smoothing out the rumpled sheets before grasping the edges to tug them up toward her chin. Tucking her in, he smoothed out her hair again. “Do I get a goodnight kiss or are you still mad at me?”

She seemed to consider his question, wondering if refusing him would make him stay a little longer. But as she began to succumb to exhaustion, she lifted up her arms for him. Smiling, he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her skinny torso as she slid her arms around his neck once again. He placed a gentle peck against her lips, which she returned, before nuzzling his stubbled cheek against hers. She protested at the scratchy sensation, and he chuckled lightly.

“I love you, baby,” he said softly, leaning back a little bit.

She didn’t let go, tugging on him one last time, giving his rough cheek one last kiss before cooing, “I love you too, daddy…”

They disentangled, sliding his hand over her hair one last time as she curled up on her side, facing the wall, snatching over the stuffed pig and curling herself around it. He straightened up, taking a step to the little bed side table that had the nightlight and a small music box. He picked up the box, a simple wooden structure with a tiny bird on a spring inside that twirled around while the music played. He flipped the box upside down, twisting the crank on the bottom before setting it back onto the table. 

As the little box twanged out “Goodnight, Irene,” Dell collected Teddy Roosebelt from the foot of the bed and walked to the door, stepping back into the hallway and clicking the door shut.


	4. Distressed

_‘What am I gonna do now?’_

The blood rushing to his ears drowned out the sound of the Administrator announcing the countdown to the end of the mission. All he could hear was his heart pounding somewhere between his chest and his Adams apple and the seashell like hiss of an empty resupply room. Angry tears beaded behind his goggles as he carefully dethatched the ammo pouch from his belt and placed it on the cot he’d been laying on moments before.

It sure wasn’t pretty. The ammo pouch was useless, torn to ribbons and slightly charred on the outside. The stuffed animal within was not faring much better. Stubby little arms and legs had separated from the corduroy body and several deep gashes split the bear’s tummy and face with singed, burnt cotton filling puffing out from the wounds. Both of the buttons that had made up the goggle eyes were missing and its left ear had effectively burned off. It was nothing short of a massacre. If there was a way to fix the damage, he sure as hell didn’t know how. Delicate things like this weren’t his area of expertise; if you couldn’t fix it by banging it with a wrench…

His real fingers trembled as he reached out to touch the little puff of stuffing oozing out of its belly. Why didn’t it survive respawn? It should have been mended just like his body and clothes had. Though, he reckoned this was the first time the bear had been in an explosion. Perhaps respawn only repaired vital damage… He rarely took the toy into the field, only stuffing the little bear into his ammo pouch when he was feeling particularly good, or particularly bad. Today had been one of those particularly “bad” days.

_‘What am I going to_ do _?’_

He’d promised her he would bring Teddy back. He knew it was her way of making sure her father returned in one piece, but never had it occurred to him that there was a possibility the goddamn _bear_ wouldn’t make it. His initial shock was slowly churning into guilt and self loathing. He’d let her down something fierce.

The Engineer remained frozen with dread as he stared down at the plaything, afraid to pick up the decimated toy for fear it would disintegrate further under his grip. He was only jarred out of his stupefied state when he heard the tell tale buzz and crackle of one of his other teammates respawning onto a cot on the other side of the room, and finally the Administrator announcing that their mission had failed. Panicked, the Engineer pulled his hardhat off of his head, quickly stuffed the pieces of teddy bear into it, and pressed it against his belly, looking over his shoulder tensely.

With a guttural groan, the Heavy blinked his small eyes against the fluorescents shining down from the ceiling. His final effort to hold off the REDs had been a fantastic failure, and he paid for it with a huntsman’s arrow through his skull. The headache he awoke with wasn’t quite as bad as an arrow through the skull, but the bright lights of the resupply room certainly weren’t helping. Rubbing his hands over his eyes to shield them from the light, he slowly pulled his body upward, abdominals crying out in protest as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot that was bowing under his immense weight.

“You alright there, comrade?”

Opening one eye, Heavy peeked out from between his gloved fingers to see the Engineer standing by the wooden lockers that lined the far wall, looking over at him with a sympathetic smile. At least, he thought it was sympathetic. It was hard to tell when the Texan still had his goggles on.

Heavy took a deep breath, eye lids fluttering a moment before he dropped his hands down to his knees and pushed himself up off of the cot, the wooden legs letting out a sigh of relief to be liberated of the weight. “Da. I am alright,” he ground out. “Is very bad day for BLU team. Coward Sniper got me with stupid arrow when I was not looking. We were no better than babies today. What you doing here, Engineer?” He rubbed the back of his thick neck as he walked toward his own locker to the right of the Engineer.

The Engineer stayed stock still as his teammate approached, keeping his helmet pressed tight against his stomach, tensing even more when the Heavy mentioned babies. “Shoot, got ambushed at the end of a Teleporter. Gotdang RED Demo had booby trapped it with stickies. Hurt like hell. Always does.” His face was turned toward his locker, but he was watching his large teammate from behind his tinted goggles as the Russian pulled the bandolier off of his shoulder and toss it into the flimsy wooden locker.

The Heavy frowned and nodded in agreement, only to wince and rub his eyes again when a fresh wave of hurt splashed around his brain. “Is a very cowardly thing for him to do, am-boosh teleporter. RED team was very full to nasty tricks today.” The pain just behind his skull was starting to wane, but every time he made a sharp movement, it felt like jell-o sloshing around in there. Perhaps he should go see the Medic… Well, he was going to go see the Medic any way, but not for any medicinal reasons.

The Engineer took the Heavy’s momentary distraction to stuff his helmet onto the top shelf of his locker, pressing it as far back into the cubby hole as he could, standing on the toes of his boots as he silently cursed his lack of height. It was a desperate attempt to hide the toy, not wanting a hulk of a man like Heavy to chastise him for it. He really didn’t need that kind of flack at the moment.

Engineer looked over his shoulder again to see the Heavy curiously staring at him with his head tilted to the side, very much like a bulldog on a post card photo. The Engineer flushed and gave a nervous chuckle before returning to his feet, staring down at his hands as he fiddled with the buckle of his work belt. “Hmm. Yeah. Tell me about it. We ought to be damn worried if the REDs are gettin’ clever.” He slung the belt over a wire coat hanger, looking anywhere but at the Heavy, willing his face to return to a normal color.

While the Heavy wasn’t exactly dense, he wasn’t exactly the kind to observe, much less take, a hint either. Though the Engineer spoke just as he always did, with that smooth drawl and even tone, Heavy could tell something was… wrong. From his red face and ears to his fumbling body language, Heavy knew his comrade was avoiding something. When you spent a little over two years living and dying with the same men every day, it was natural to pick up subtleties, and it wasn’t hard to detect when something was amiss. The Engineer was the most collected, serene member of their team; to see him loose that composure was unsettling to the Heavy. It simply wasn’t in his nature to let a teammate suffer. He may have been a brute on the battlefield, but he knew the time and place for that.

Taking a few steps closer to his much shorter teammate, Heavy clapped a large hand over his shoulder, peering down to force the other man look him in the face. “Is Engineer alright? You seem distressed,” he explained. “Do not try to deny. I will know if you are lying. You cannot be credit to team if you are distressed.”

What was an attempt at comfort sounded more like a veiled threat from the large man, and the Engineer went ridged under the gaze, beads of sweat popping from his brow as he searched the other man’s face. The Russian had a way of pulling honesty out of people with that look, often against their will, and now was no different. But the Engineer merely forced a grin onto his face and pat the man’s large hand with his own gloved Gunslinger. “I ‘preciate your concern, partner, but it’s nothin’. I think that blast musta just rattled me a little more than I’m accustomed to. I ain’t used ta bein’ in the direct line of fire like you are. Defense is my game. Bullets I can take, but gettin’ blown to smithereens is another story.”

The Heavy pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized the explanation, before his face split into a grin and he pounded his hand onto the shorter mans shoulder, almost causing the Texan to lose balance. “You need to take pain like man, Engineer! Make you strong! But da, I understand. We know all their sneaky tricks now. Next time I see RED Demoman, I shall squash him like tiny bug for you, if you do not get to him first.” After another jarring pat on the back, the Heavy returned to his locker and began tugging off his gloves.

“Much obliged, comrade,” the Engineer panted, the affectionate pats on the back having sufficiently knocked the wind out of him. He was in the clear, thankful for the Heavy’s rather trusting nature. The Russian’s concern for his wellbeing had come as a bit of a surprise, but the logic was there: if one man suffered, the whole team suffered, as had probably been the case with today’s battle. No one had earned the right to be ‘credit to team’ today. Glancing up at the sliver of yellow hardhat he could see on the shelf from where he stood, he decided he would return for it later, after the base had settled and he was sure he wouldn’t be spotted.

He finally reached up to remove his dark goggles, heart still pounding at his rib cage as he pulled the eye protection off. He sucked in a sharp gasp through his nose when he felt cool, wet drops fall down his cheeks. Looking down into the specs, he realized the angry tears he’d shed minutes ago had pooled behind the lenses. He quickly wiped off his face, tossed the goggles into the locker, perhaps a bit harder than he meant to, and headed for the door out of the respawn room before the Heavy could comment. “I’ll see you round the base, partner. Gonna try to get to my quarters before Soldier calls a damn assembly over today’s loss. That man ain’t good for worked up nerves.”

Heavy stood with his gloves in his hands, watching over his shoulder as the Engineer made a hasty escape out of the supply room, wincing at the pain that shot through his head when the door slammed shut. He stayed still, letting quiet descend on the room before placing his gloves in his own locker and promptly moving over to look into the Engineers. With no regard for personal property, he reached his large hand into the top shelf of the cubby, groping for the yellow hardhat and sliding it out when his fingers curled around it. The way the Texan had tried so hard to push the helmet as far back into the dark as he could, despite being so vertically challenged, was nothing short of suspicious. Pulling it out of the hole and into the light, Heavy turned his back on the locker and stared down into the hardhat; at the tiny, shredded remains of the teddy bear that Heavy had seen on the Engineers hip in the past.

A deep frown tugged at the Heavy’s lips as he poked around the bits and pieces of fabric and stuffing with his large fingers. It hardly resembled a teddy bear any more, but he was certain that’s what it was. The Engineer’s behavior made a bit of sense now. If anyone else had been in the supply room to see this pathetic display, the Texan would surely have been humiliated and his pride destroyed. But Heavy didn’t have the heart to do something like that…

Instead his heart pulled in another direction, one that Heavy rarely followed. Glancing around the supply room, Heavy tucked the hardhat under his arm, careful not to jostle up its contents, before walking out of the room in the direction of the medical bay.


	5. Pain Killers

It was awfully funny, watching the lumbering Russian tip toe around the med bay, as if he was honestly attempting to be sneaky. The Medic watched the pitiable exhibit from the dark of his office, the lights all turned off as he lounged behind his desk, the window separating him from his poor excuse for a sick bay was completely dark but for the glowing cherry of a cigarette, if one were to look closely.

The Heavy was looking closely, but not at the window. He was peeking through drawers and cabinets, searching their contents closely as he held the Engineers hardhat flush against his flank. Though the Heavy wasn’t necessarily disturbing anything, the Medic felt the corner of his eye twitch slightly whenever he saw something moved out of its proper place by the large hands of his companion. The hospital wing may have been deplorably under stocked and small, but everything had a place, and the Medic wanted to keep it that way. The situation was slowly losing its humor, and now the Medic was losing his patience.

Slowly, Medic stood from his chair, placing the still smoldering cigarette onto the edge of a crystal ash tray on the desk before walking to the door, slowly turning the handle and slipping out of the office. Heavy was none the wiser, continuing to rummage through a drawer on the far right of the med bay as the Medic approached silently. Crossing his arms over his chest, the German did his best to appear intimidating before clearing his throat.

“Find vhat you vere looking for, Herr Heavy?” he asked loudly, voice echoing minutely through the empty, steal room as he looked up at the man before him expectantly. He couldn’t contain a smirk when the Russian banged the top of his head against a cabinet, and had to bite the thumb tip of his right hand glove to keep from laughing when the larger man let out a pathetic little groan afterwards.

Looking over a massive shoulder and rubbing a hand over his pounding skull, the Heavy pouted like a child when he saw the Medic standing behind him like a disappointed parent. He quickly turned around, holding the helmet behind his back as he looked down at the German, shaking his head, and quickly regretted doing so as it sent tingles through his head and neck, and felt the pressure behind his eyes.

“N-Nyet,” he said lowly, rubbing his fingers over his eyes once again. “Was looking for pain killers. Respawn after headshot leave me with terrible headache. Didn’t… want to disturb you for something so trivial.” Heavy hoped it sounded legit. It was half of the truth any way; he _had_ been looking for some kind of pain killer, among other things. He squinted his eyes against the harsh lights of the med bay, practically feeling the scrutinizing gaze of the Medic burn against his skin. He suddenly knew how the Engineer must have felt…

Medic raised a dark brow, looking over Heavy suspiciously. Though he would deny it to the bitter end, Heavy was an open book when he was around the doctor. And right now the brute looked very much like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, only his hand was very large and was practically stuck in said cookie jar. His story was full of holes, which the Medic had every intention of pointing out.

 _“Mein liebler,”_ Medic sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his spectacles before looking back up to the large man and taking a step forward. “You know zhat I don’t keep anything around here zhat actually _relieves_ pain. I certainly don’t vant anyone getting zhe impression zhat I’m here to make zhem feel better.” He stopped in front of the Heavy, _his_ Heavy, and gently placed his hands flush against the massive man’s chest, standing up on his toes to lean against him as he arched his neck back. “And you also know zhat you don’t need a reason to disturb me.” His voice dropped a seductive octave and lips twitched into a sly grin, which the Heavy eagerly returned, leaning forward in an attempt to catch the shorter mans lips with his own.

He was met with disappointment, however, when the Medic lurched back and gave him a light slap on the cheek, that hard look of suspicion returning to his face. “Nein! Now tell me vhat you vere really snooping around for, or you vill get nozhing from me. You’d best leave zee sneaking to zee Spies, _liebling_ , because frankly you are terrible at it.”

Heavy gaped, looking down at the doctor with utter dejection, before pouting like a kicked puppy, which he essentially was. But as the Medic stood there expectantly with his arms crossed and his hip cocked, Heavy knew there was no getting around it. If he was going to get what he needed, he would have to come clean. “That was a dirty trick, Doktor,” he said quietly, pulling the hardhat out from behind his back and holding it with both hands in front of him for the Medic to look into. “I was looking for sutures. I was going to try and fix…”

At first, Medic hadn’t the faintest idea what he was looking at. It appeared to be a pile of rags and cotton, but upon closer inspection and registering that the bundle was inside a yellow hardhat, realization dawned… and he was more confused than he was before. Reaching out to push around the pieces of what he could only assume was the Engineer’s silly teddy bear with his index finger, he simply glanced up at the Heavy from over his glasses and demanded, “Explain?”

Heavy sighed, leaning against the cabinet behind him, suddenly feeling very silly about this whole thing. “Engineer was caught in explosion today. Was acting very strangely in resupply room, trying to avoid me and hide this,” he motioned with the hardhat. “Would not have been big deal, but I think he had been crying.” He whispered the last part, as if it was some sort of shameful thing and he didn’t want to embarrass the Engineer. “It must be very important to him, for him to act like that. Engineer is credit to team, and I want to help.” It sounded so babyish when he said it out loud, his face burning up with embarrassment as he looked away from the Medic.

Medic tugged his bottom lip between his incisors as he bit back what could only have been described as a giggle, if it had managed to escape his throat. Instead, he simply grinned and relieved the Heavy of the helmet, taking it in his own hands to peer inside and assess the damage. “So you stole zee Engineers hardhat, snuck it all zee vay down here to look for sutures, and vere going to try and repair zhis Teddybar for him?”

The laugher finally did escape him when the Heavy nodded solemnly before looking crestfallen once again at being laughed at by his lover, which only made the Medic chuckle even more. Tucking the hardhat under his arm, he placed his other hand on Heavy’s chest once again and sighed as his laugher tapered off. “I’m sorry, _mein liebe_. I am not laughing at you. It’s just… Your heart is far too big for your own good, and I do not mean zhat literally.” He pat the large mans chest and pushed up on his toes expectantly, giving the man the same sly grin as before. Heavy only pouted a few moments longer before accepting the offer and giving the doctor a short, chaste kiss to indicate he was still miffed.

Medic only snickered and pushed the hardhat back into the Heavy’s large hands. “Come,” he commanded, walking across the med bay to another set of drawers and cabinets. The Heavy followed, his turn to be suspicious as he watched the Medic pull a bundle of keys off of his belt and unlock one of the cabinets. From inside, the doctor produced a bottle of unlabeled pills, as well as a set of surgical needles. The Heavy watched curiously, brows knotted as the Medic locked up the cabinet once again and turned to face his companion. “Your room or mine?” he asked simply, looping the keys back onto his belt as he headed for the med bay exit.

“I do not understand, Doktor,” Heavy questioned, hiding the helmet back under his arm as he followed obediently nonetheless.

The Medic sighed, looking over his shoulder at the larger man. “I am going to help you help zee Engineer by fixing zee Teddybar for you. Your hands are far too large to perform such delicate vork. Besides, I have repaired zhat silly Pocket Medic of yours enough times to know vhat I’m doing.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if it were the most obvious scenario in the world. “And zee pills are for your headache. Zhey vill probably knock you out cold, so who’s bed vould you like to sleep in: yours or mine?”

For the second time in the span of a few minutes, Heavy gaped down at the Medic in astonishment, but instead of looking like a kicked puppy, he simply smiled and grabbed the Medics arm, forcing him to turn around before leaning over and kissing him on the mouth once more. Far from chaste, and far from miffed anymore, he grinned against the Germans lips as the smaller man struggled against the blatant, nearly public display of affection for a few moments before caving and kissing his lover in return. When the Medic finally had to break the embrace to gasp for air, the Heavy laughed.

“Your bed, Doktor.”


	6. Floozy

The Engineer had forgotten what real, permanent loss felt like. Years of respawn and resurrection would do that to a man. Building the machines that would ensure that resurrection left him with the unsettling notion that death was no longer of consequence. It was just expected, taken for granted even, that no matter what happened, damage could be repaired. Even when loss was somehow permanent, there was usually a way to replace it.

He sat quietly on the bench in his workshop, trying to distract his troubled mind by calibrating his Gunslinger, poking about the circuitry with delicate precision. Losing his right hand had been far less traumatic than this. It had been an accident while he was working for Biggs, a BLU owned steel mill, but in a much different, if not equally dangerous field. He had always been an engineer; he’d always been able to fix practical problems. He’d been able to _replace_ the hand he’d lost in what now seemed like a rather mundane factory accident, in retrospect. Getting ones hand crushed under a steel beam due to the negligence of a greenhorn was nothing; getting torn to ribbons by some well placed sticky bombs? Now that was a proper disaster.

A wave of absolute dread roiled in his chest when he thought about the remains of Teddy Roosebelt tucked away in the resupply room. He rubbed his palm over his face as he released a shuddering sigh, the metal fingers of the Gunslinger twitching and curling as they recalibrated themselves to their default strength. The destruction of that toy was _not_ a practical problem. There was no fixing it. There was no replacing it. There was only accepting the fact that he had utterly failed his only child.

He was going to have to tell her.

Just the thought forced him to swallow the bile that swelled up his throat. He didn’t want to make another phone call that would leave his daughter in tears. But he couldn’t lie to her either. And he couldn’t wait. Prolonging the inevitable was just as bad as lying. Once the Gunslinger finally stopped whirring and contracting, he tested the artificial digits before tugging the yellow glove back over them. Rubbing his hand over his chest in an attempt to calm his heart, he slowly exited his workshop and took down the hall toward the public telephone.

Tucked into an alcove along the first floor main hall of the BLU base was a municipal phone booth used to make outgoing calls. It was hidden away, far enough from the main hall to ensure some seclusion and quiet, but the Soldier had ripped the privacy door off of its hinges about a year ago after a bad round with a solicitor. The Engineer stopped at the corner that turned into the alcove, peering up and down the hall a moment before slipping in, relieved to find the booth unoccupied and the hallway deserted. Taking a seat on the low bench in front of the phone, he pulled the handset off of the switch hook and swallowed his pride.

He didn’t like the way his fingers trembled as he punched in the numbers. He tried to catch his breath as he listened to the line ring in his ear and he was painfully tempted to immediately hang up before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

Dell didn’t have a chance to be surprised that a man had answered.

 _“What did I tell you about answering the phone?”_ someone, his wife, hissed from somewhere nearby. He listened to the handset jostle around as it was passed from one grip to another. He could almost hear the woman primping her hair on the other end of the line as she sweetly repeated. “Hello?”

Dell’s knuckles were white as he seized the handset, shutting his eyes tightly as he grit out, “Who the hell was that?”

“D-Dell!” his wife sounded a touch horrified on the other end, stammering as she tried to explain. “That? That was just uhm… it’s not… I mean… Why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be-”

“You don’t get to sleep around until you’ve signed the goddamn divorce papers,” he growled, clutching the phone with his real hand; he was fairly certain he would have broken the handset in half with the Gunslinger. She had been very serious about her threat two years ago, doing her best to make the split as messy and complicated as possible from the distance between them. But in the end, she had hesitated to sign the final agreement, realizing the moment she did, she would lose the house and all ties to the money her soon-to-be-ex-husband was currently making. He had agreed to let her stay in the house he’d built with his own hands until he could come home, but only for the sake of his daughter. They had agreed to wait to make it official until he could come home and they settle this peacefully.

Apparently she couldn’t wait that long to find herself an out.

“W-What? What?! How dare you!” she murmured, keeping her voice low, obviously cupping the transmitter with her hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s just a friend. I’m not some floozy...”

 _'Coulda fooled me'_ , he thought bitterly, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as he inhaled a few steady breaths. “You better not be sleeping with some other man in my bed, under my roof, or so help me-”

“What do you want, Dell?” she cut him off, her voice deepening with distaste. “You obviously didn’t call to talk to me. Annie isn’t home. She’s with a friend.”

The wind whipped out of his sails when he heard that, slumping onto the bench as his rage high tapered off and he was returned to that state of angst and dread he’d been in before. “She’s not?” he asked, voice softening, cracking slightly.

“No, she’s not.” Her voice had softened as well, a tired, sad murmur. “And I’m not going to tell her you called. She gets upset when she misses you.”

He sighed again, running his hand over his skull as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I see… Look, I’m sorry I-”

“Don’t apologize, Dell. It’s… not your fault.” There was a pause, a beat of silence between them as she breathed into the transmitter. “She’ll be home tomorrow, ‘bout the same time. You can call again then. I’ve gotta go. You take care of yourself.”

“Yeah…” he said quietly, looking down at his boots. “You too.”

Another beat, before he heard her hang up the phone and the line go dead. He sat there, listing to the dead line buzz in his ear before he growled and slammed the receiver onto the switch hook with a loud clang. He then slumped over, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, trying to steady his breathing and his nerves.

He stayed still for a long time, waves of nausea and distress crashing over him in steadily building increments before someone finally saved him from himself.

“You look like a man who could use a couple beers, mate.”

The Engineer sat straight up, looking to the side to see the Sniper standing at the entrance of the alcove, a case of Blu Streak pressed against his hip, rifle slung over his shoulder and a kindly grin on his face.

The Engineer couldn’t help but return the smile. “You offering, slim?” he asked, standing and smoothing out the front of his overalls as he walked out of the booth toward the Australian. He was relieved to see the Sniper, for once; he was the only member of the team that the Engineer felt he didn’t need to keep his guard up around.

Sniper pat the twelve pack affectionately, tipping his hat back a bit as he looked down at his much shorter team mate. “You bet, hoss. Was on me way up to the nest to unwind. You’re certainly welcome ta join me.” The Sniper felt likewise about his tiny companion. On a team full of batshit mercenaries, he was fairly certain the only ones who didn’t harbor some sort of mental illness were himself and the Engineer. (And maybe Spy. But Sniper wasn’t overly fond of spooks. And one could argue that a man who collected his own bodily secretions in jars to use as weaponry was hardly of sound mind, but you know, “desperate times” and all that rot.) It was always a welcome reprieve to surround one’s self with a bit of sanity now and then, and the Engineer really did appear to be in desperate need of sane company. He wouldn’t tell the Texan just how terrible he looked until he had a few Blu Streaks in him.

“I think I’m gonna take you up on that, buddy.” Though the Engineer wasn’t the type of man who often drank his troubles away, he couldn’t deny that inebriation sounded awfully welcome at the moment. He turned to the side, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward the phone booth. “Did you need to… uhm…”

Sniper shook his head, flicking his hand dismissively. “Nah. Was just gonna call me mum and dad, but they can wait. Prolly for the best I have a few drinks beforehand anyway, right?” He chuckled, clasping a hand on the Engineers shoulder and tugging him toward the hallway. “C’mon mate. The faster we get up there the faster we can put a hurtin’ on this case.”

The Engineer followed quickly, having to walk quite a bit faster than the Sniper to keep up with the other mans long strides. He felt something close to relief for the first time since he respawned, wanting nothing more than to get good and loaded. He suspected passing out was the only way he was going to be able to sleep tonight. His thoughts shifted to his hardhat back in the resupply room… It would still be there in the morning, he thought. Now was not the time to worry about it. Now was the time to rely on the strangeness of kindness.


	7. Empties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains alcohol and minor drug use. Nothing hard core. I am not condoning nor encouraging the use of illicit drugs. I’m just reminding you that this story does take place in the 1960’s. And BLU Sniper is an unwashed hippie.

The Engineer was winded by the time they reached the snipers nest on the top of the BLU base. He was a short man that was not overly fond of stairs, and glared at the Sniper in distain as the tall man laughed at the poor Texans huffing and panting. “You gotta work out more,” he teased, placing the case of beer on the floor before opening the narrow windows that lined the small room.

“Says the support class that literally sits on his be-hind all day,” the Engineer huffed. As he finally caught his breath, he was slightly surprised to find it was night already, the lack of windows in the BLU base made keeping track of time near impossible. Dim, pale moonlight filtered through the thin windows as cool night air whistled in, bringing with it the clicks of cicadas and crickets, and the quiet hum of the industrial base.

The small room faintly illuminated, the Engineer noted that there were no chairs, just a couple of pilfered couch cushions from the rec room placed onto a couple of overturned ammo crates. An empty beer case served as a makeshift table, upon which the Sniper placed his hat along with a weathered oil lantern, which he proceeded to light with an old Zippo. “Make yaself at home.”

The Engineer looked around one last time before taking a seat on one of the ammo crates, the lumpy couch cushion dipping under his weight, but it was comfortable. And was only bound to get more comfortable as soon as they opened up that twelve pack. Sniper wasted no time, tugging the lid off of the box and producing two sweaty bottles of cold Blu Streak. He passed one along to the Engineer before taking a seat on the opposite crate, twisting off the cap and tossing it into the crown of his hat. When Engineer had done the same, the Australian lifted up his bottle and quietly murmured “Cheers, mate.” The bottles clanked together, and they each took a deep swig.

Blu Streak wasn’t the best beer. Sniper personally detested the stuff, constantly claiming that he’d never drink beer from the States again once he returned to Australia, where they made real beer. American beer tasted like piss, and _no, please don’t ask how I know it tastes like piss_. But it was alcohol, and that was all that mattered at this point in the game. Engineer watched as the Sniper set down his bottle, hoisted his rifle up to rest the butt against his shoulder, and peered through the scope. The span of land between RED and BLU was deserted, as it usually was during ceasefires. He didn’t anticipate having to waste any bullets tonight, and simply rested the gun against the wall between two windows, always in close reach, just in case.

“All quiet on the western front?” the Engineer questioned, peeking out the window himself as he took another swig from the bottle, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

The Sniper nodded, reclaiming his bottle as he propped himself on the wall behind him. “Yeah. Bloody REDs are probably exhausted from the great damn job they did today. Pikers,” he grunted, nursing the beer slowly as he watched his companion pound it back. That was a tad worrisome, wasn’t it? “Take it easy, shortie. We got another ten bottles. Don’t gotta drink it like it’s runnin’ away.”

The Engineer paused mid-swallow, lifting his bottle up to the moonlight to observe the contents, frowning when he saw a little over half of the liquid gone. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his real fingers. “You’re right,” he mumbled, leaning his shoulder against a window sill and looking down. “Just… a bit distracted, partner.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Sniper leaned forward again, placing his elbows on his knees and holding the neck of the bottle with his fingers. “I know it ain’t none of my business, but you mind telling me what the hell is wrong? I saw your little outburst in the booth. The hell did that phone ever do to you?”

The Engineer sighed through his nose before chuckling bitterly, taking another well deserved swallow. Already he could feel the effects running through his short body, his head lightening, a soft tingle in the back of his neck and his legs weighing down. “Goddamn phone don’t do nothin’ but deliver bad news, slim,” he stated, still looking out the window as he felt the Snipers eyes on him. It never felt right to lie to the man. The Sniper was only ever concerned for his well being, he was the closest thing to a friend he had on the base. Though, he wondered how you could be friends with a man whose name you didn’t know. “I told you about the divorce, right?”

Sniper grimaced, taking a long pull from the bottle himself. “Yeah, ya did. This got something to do with that bitch, again?” Sniper suspected he felt more righteous anger against the other man’s wife than he did. This wasn’t the first time the pair of them had knocked back a couple brews because of that woman, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. When he saw the Engineer glare at him disapprovingly, Sniper waved his hand, shaking his head dismissively. “Sorry. That was uncalled for… So what happened?”

Engineer snorted through his nose at what he knew wasn’t a very sincere apology from the Australian, but then again, he had rather similar sentiments about the woman at the moment. He rested his head against the wall next to the window, keeping his eyes on the night sky. “A man answered the phone before she did,” he said simply, the corner of his lip curling downward as he drained his first bottle.

The Sniper stared across the small room at his teammate for a few moments before silently reaching into the case and producing and opening another beer for the Engineer, shoving it into the man’s hands as he relieved him of the empty. “You’ve got to be bleedin’ kidding me.”

Staring into the fresh bottle, the Engineer sighed and muttered, “Nope.” He took a pull from the bottle, closing his eyes tightly as his fist clenched around the glass, his knuckles going white. In another sudden outburst, he slammed the bottle against the window sill. “I have done nothing but take care of her for nine goddamn years. I’ve tried to make this split as straightforward as possible, and she just can’t wait to hop into bed with some dandy and be rid of me. What the fuck did I do to deserve this, huh?”

It was beyond unusual for the Engineer to lose his temper, much less actually _cuss_ , and the Sniper simply sat stunned for a moment, before realizing his American friend might have actually been expecting an answer. “You didn’t do nothin’ to deserve that, mate. I’ve said it before, and I got no shame sayin’ it again: she’s an ungrateful bitch. I personally don’t know how you’ve put up with it for this long. If she wanted out so bad, she wouldn’t have prolonged signin’ them papers.” He rubbed his stubbled face with his gloved hand, fingers lingering on the thin scar on his cheek and nose before tugging off his aviators and tossing them into his hat. “You deserve _much_ better, hoss.”

Another bitter chuckle. Another swig from the bottle. The lightheadedness was becoming more pronounced as the Engineer tried to stay still as he leaned against the window. He kept reminding himself that he at least deserved to get plastered tonight. “You got that right, partner… But what can I do, really? I put up with it ‘cause I’ve got to. Got my little girl to think about… Trying to make this painless for her too.”

The Sniper was in the process of twisting off another bottle cap when the Engineers last words caught his attention. He looked up with his brows pressed together, arching one of them. “You never told me you had an ankle biter,” he grinned, this new bit of information coming as quite a surprise. Though it did shed some much needed light on the situation.

Engineer looked down at the bottle in his hand accusingly, as if it had run its mouth instead of him. “I guess I never did. Gotta keep some information classified, ya know?” He sat up, grabbing the corner of the crate he was seated on to steady himself, placing the bottle on the windowsill, and then searching through the pockets on the front of his overalls. He slid out a worn Polaroid, rubbing his thumb over it affectionately before holding it out to the Sniper, who wiped his hand on his pants before taking it.

The photo was several years old, of a very small blonde girl in a light blue dress sitting in the grass with a teddy bear tucked under her arm and the head of a sunflower in her lap. She had a big gap-toothed smile on her freckled face, band-aids on her knees and a blue ribbon in her short hair. The field where she had obtained the sunflower stretched out in the background where it met a bright blue sky.

The Sniper bit his bottom lip as he looked down at the photo in the yellow lamp light. “Holy dooley, Engie. I didn’t know you had it in ya’. She’s bloody adorable.” A grin split on his face as he passed back the photo. He didn’t ask her name, out of respect for the Engineers privacy. He knew better than to pry, and if the Engineer wanted him to know, he’d tell him.

Engineer chuckled as he took the picture back, looking at it fondly one more time before sliding it back into his pocket. “Yeah well, she’s the whole reason I’m doing this. Whole reason I’m even here. Wouldn’ta bothered agreein’ to fightin’ some petty blood feud if it didn’t pay so well that she’d never have to work a day in her life. Priorities, partner.” He took another swig from the beer, only to find himself with another empty bottle in his fingers. “Got a feelin’ I did something today that’s gonna disappoint the hell out of her though…” He placed the empty on the floor, considered the case in front of him, before pulling out a third.

An unexpected pang of jealousy shot through the Snipers chest as he listened to his friend. The Australian didn’t really have a reason for fighting in this insignificant war, besides the money, because it came with the territory of being a paid assassin. He could stretch it to say he was doing it for his parents back home, but that would be a lie. His father would work until the day he died and would never take money offered by his son. That would be charity. His only son had left the farm, and the country, to earn easy money killing people from a distance instead of making an honest living like a real man. That made the Sniper a severe disappointment in the eyes of his father. The Engineer had something _worth_ fighting for. The Engineer had done more with his life than the Sniper ever hoped to, than his parents had hoped he would do.

The Sniper breathed a sigh through his nose, looking out the window at the empty span of wasteland. “Yeah? I feel ya. Ain’t nothin’ worse than disapointin’ the ones ya love.” He sneered as the words left his lips. He was supposed to be _unwinding_ up here. The beer was supposed to make him feel better, not bring him further down. Engie was the one looking like shit, remember? The Sniper sighed, depositing his second empty onto the floor with its brothers before rummaging through the pockets in his vest. “What’d ja do?”

The Engineer regarded his drinking buddy from behind the neck of the bottle he held, wondering what brought on such a melancholy tone from the Australian. He swallowed another mouthful and shrugged. “It’s… ah… It’s pretty stupid. I just… you know, I managed to break a promise I made to her before I left home. It’s a silly thing, but when she finds out she’s gonna be heartbroken. She’s just a little kid, you know?”

The Sniper looked up from his search through his pockets, offering a sympathetic grin before mumbling. “Yeah. Actually, uh… I _don’t_ know. Ain’t never been around kids in me life, but I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinkin’ it is. I’m sure it’ll turn out better than you’re expectin’.” He finally found the object of his desire, pulling out a small plastic bag from one of the hidden pockets of his vest. Inside was about two ounces of marijuana and a few white papers. “I suggest we both stop feelin’ sorry for ourselves and bloody relax while there’s a goddamn ceasefire. Don’t you agree?”

The Engineer snorted with a mouthful of beer, staring wide eyed at the contraband before wiping his mouth. “Where in the _hell_ did you get that?”

The Sniper smirked, a much nicer alternative than the grimace he’d been wearing moments before. “Look, I don’t know what the Pyro does with his or her spare time, but I ain’t askin’ any bloody questions. All I know is that it’s probably over priced, and nobody likes gettin’ high alone.” He quirked a brow, looking across at the Engineer as he began expertly rolling up a joint. “You in?”

The Engineer watched the Snipers hand dubiously. He’d done pot a couple of times in his youth while earning his numerous PhD’s, and then again after he’d lost his hand in the accident, but that had been several years ago. He stopped smoking when he’d gotten married, and had stopped drinking when his daughter was born. But as he watched the Sniper flip open his Zippo to light the end of the blunt, he couldn’t resist adding “getting high” to “getting drunk” on the list of things he clearly deserved to do tonight. He smirked and leaned forward a bit. “You offering, slim?”

The Sniper laughed and coughed at the same time, blowing the smoke out the window as he passed over the fag. “You bet, hoss,” he choked, fingers brushing against the Engineers before he leaned forward to fetch himself another beer.


	8. Operation

Just like the sick bay, the Medic kept his personal quarters pristine. The BLU barracks were simple, every room containing a bed, side table, writing desk, closet, and for a lucky few like the Medic, a window. While weapons and other battle necessities were kept in lockers and supply rooms, the barracks were a place to rest and keep personal effects. When he first arrived to the BLU base, he had taken it upon himself to install a bookcase next to the writing desk (as he would sooner die than leave his collection in some cardboard boxes under the bed). More recently, he’d dished out the cash to get himself a considerably larger, sturdier bed. Everything in the room had a very precise place, from the order of the books lining shelves of the bookcase, the collection of vinyl records stacked beside an electric record player on the desk, right down to the shoes and boots placed on the floor of the closet.

And this delicate, exact order was practically destroyed every time Heavy entered the room.

As the large man slept soundly in his boxers on the left side of the Medics bed, the Medic himself was in the process of cleaning up the trail of destruction the Heavy had left in his wake. It actually wasn’t that bad, nothing more than a trail of clothing and boots haphazardly strewn on the floor, but the Medic was disappointed he didn’t get a chance to scold his lover before the Russian passed out under the effects of the pain pills he’d been administered. The Medic collected the clothes from the floor, folding up the trousers, t-shirt and vest, neatly stacking them on the chair of the desk before placing the boots and belt on top of the pile. He looked over his shoulder at the slumbering Russian before rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Dummkopf,” he muttered, though entirely affectionate.

The night was still young, the sun just having set over the wasteland, but already the air was beginning to chill. Medic pulled off his gloves and was unbuttoning his coat as he walked to the meager pane of glass that tried to pass itself off as a window. He unlocked the latch and pushed it open; instantly a cool breeze slid through, stirring up and pushing out the stagnant, stifling air. It already felt better, cleaner. He took a deep breath of it before pulling off his coat and depositing it into the closet, tucking the blue gloves into the front pocket. He then removed his tie and vest, hanging them up as well as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, before finally kicking off his boots and placing them in the empty space left on the floor.

The cool air suddenly left him feeling tired, and he was awfully tempted to curl up beside the Heavy under the sheets, press himself against the other mans back and fall asleep with him. But he then caught sight of the yellow hardhat, placed on the desk along with the pain killers and needles. He sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He could not disappoint.

Medic approached the desk, hands moving past the helmet to instead pull over the stack of records. He flipped through them idly, pushing open the dust cover on the turntable before finally sliding one of the vinyl discs out of its sleeve and placing it on the platter. He pressed the power button, gently picked up the tone arm, and placed the needle to the vinyl. After a few quiet pops, Bach’s _Goldberg Variations_ began to drift from the speaker. He closed his eyes, smiling a bit as he glided his hand through the air as if trying to feel the music, then let out a soft sigh before opening his eyes and collecting the hardhat and needles. He opened the top drawer on the desk, produced a pair of scissors and a small kit with various spools of colored thread and buttons, and placed them into the hardhat.

Humming to the music, the Medic crawled onto the bed, on top of the sheets, and pushed a couple pillows up against the headboard before sitting with his back against them. He paused, setting the hardhat in his lap and leaning over the sturdy shoulder of the Heavy, gently placing two fingers against the man’s jugular and feeling the steady pulse beneath his fingertips. Satisfied that he had indeed chosen the correct non-descript pills from the cabinet, he slid his hand from the Heavy’s neck to his back, caressing the hard flesh lightly before pressing a tender kiss against the skin on his bare shoulder. The Russian did not stir, looking very much like a hibernating bear curled on his side. Medic closed his eyes, rubbed his cheek against his lover’s upper arm and sighed, sitting back up against the pillows. His thigh and hip pressed against his Heavy’s back, he sank into the comfortable warmth.

Flicking on the reading lamp on the small bedside table, Medic placed the needles, scissors and notion kit aside before turning out the teddy bear remains onto his lap. The task at hand looked pretty dismal, now that he got a good look at it. He couldn’t blame the Engineer for being upset over the loss, if this toy really did hold any significance, and surely it must, if the amiable American really had been crying over it. With another sigh, he began pulling the puffs of stuffing out of the carcass, placing the filling back into the hardhat, leaving him with only a torn mess of rags and limbs. Running his fingers over the cuts, he debated the best course of action before retrieving the needles and thread-kit. He placed one of the curved sterile needles between his lips, teasing his tongue dangerously over the sharp point as he selected spools of navy and beige thread before setting the kit back on the table. He pulled a length of navy thread from the spool, licked the end of it, and expertly threaded the needle, tying a knot on the end. He turned the body of the bear inside out, found one of the gashes across its belly and pinched it together before sinking the point into the fabric.

Practical sewing wasn’t a foreign pastime for the Medic; frankly, he stitched together more fabric than human flesh these days, what with the convenience of the Medi Gun and respawn and such. He’d spent many an evening in this very same position, repairing battle worn clothing, embarrassingly bitten pillow cases and, of course, Pocket Medic; the only difference being that Heavy was usually awake to keep him company during the operation. He slid the needle in and out of the fabric expertly, making tight, uniform whipstitches along the cuts in order to minimize the scars. Stitches could heal, but they would always leave scars.

_‘Thirty-four years of medical training and research, and I’ve been reduced to a seamstress…’_

The contemplation made his hand still a moment, staring down at the progression of his handiwork. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of the needle, greatly wishing Heavy was awake to distract him from his thoughts.


	9. Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in Stuttgart, Germany, 1939.

_To promote the victory of the better and the stronger and demand the subordination of the inferior and the weaker._

They needed doctors and scientists. They needed strong, young men who fit into their ideology, with a hunger for knowledge and superiority, who loved their country and would do anything for their race. They were offering the opportunity of a lifetime; the chance to experiment without limitation. Endless test subjects, access to research, tools and facilities, all to make great strides in the fields of science and medicine for the betterment of the world.

He would be a fool _not_ to enlist.

“So why haven’t you done it yet?”

He hadn’t been paying attention to her, which was usually the case when they went out these days. The beer hall was dark and loud; he could usually get away with blaming it on the volume of the soldiers that surrounded them, all shouting, fighting or singing, or on the accordion player who got steadily worse as the night progressed. She would usually amuse herself, flirting with the other men and soldiers who were vying for her attention and the young doctor would always let her.

They had met five years prior, long before the sudden climate change in Stuttgart, in medical school. An aspiring surgeon and an adept surgical nurse, they had cut up plenty of bodies in gross anatomy classes together before she had made the first move on him. Initially, he wanted to tell her he wasn’t interested… but he realized he would be a fool to turn down such a pretty nurse. It seemed like a good opportunity at the time, and he took it. On the outside, they looked like a perfectly sweet couple. He treated her well, took her wherever she wanted to go, bought her whatever she wanted to own, let her do whatever she wanted to do. He was obedient for the sake of the facade. But after three years of necking in the back seat of his Mercedes-Benz and not getting him to go any further than slip off her panties and feel her up, she started looking elsewhere for that satisfaction. He wasn’t a jealous boyfriend. He figured she was just fine with that.

Tonight however, she was adamant for his attention. She reached across the table, grabbing his upper arm with her sharp fingers and giving him a shake, causing the foam from his glass to slosh onto the table and the sleeve of is coat. “Are you even listening to me?” she hissed, giving him a hard look with dark eyes.

He returned her look with an icy glare of his own, whipping a handkerchief out of his breast pocket to sop up the beer she’d carelessly spilled onto his coat. “Well, now you have my undivided awareness, sweetheart. I’m sorry, what were you saying?” His words dripped with cynicism as he vainly tried to save his coat. Eventually, he stuffed the handkerchief back into the front pocket and simply took the jacket off, placing it onto the chair beside him before unbuttoning his shirt sleeves in order to roll them up.

She pursed her painted lips together, rolling her eyes as she gently pressed her hand against the finger waves in her dark hair, scrunching them up even tighter. “I was asking, _sweetheart_ , why you haven’t enlisted yet? We both know you won’t get anywhere interning at some pedestrian hospital. We both know you’re too brilliant for patching up soldiers and performing autopsies. So why haven’t you joined yet? You told me yourself it’s an exceptional opportunity.”

He stared down at the stein of beer, now a quarter empty on the rimmed wooden table as he rolled his white sleeves up to his elbows. She was awfully persistent this evening. He wished they could just go back to their usual routine of her going off with some other guy, leaving him with her coat and purse and waiting outside in the car for her to toddle back with her heels in her hands.

But no, now she actually wanted to _talk_. And about his career choices, of all things.

“I’m… I’m simply hesitant to do so,” he explained, smoothing out his grey vest and straightening his crimson neck tie, looking anywhere but at her. “I don’t want to be some field medic. I’m not cut out for that. I want to get a position with-”

“Is it because you’re a faggot?”

He balked, looking over at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. It took a moment to pull himself together, snapping his jaw shut before looking down the length of the table to see if anyone had heard her ask. Satisfied that patrons and soldiers around them were too inebriated to be concerned, he leaned across the table, pushing his glass out of the way as he hissed at her, “You really want to talk about this? Right now? Here? Are you out of your _mind_?” His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the lacquered wooden table, suppressing the mind numbing urge to strangle her.

She leaned back in her chair away from him, a smug smirk on her pretty face as she avoided the brunt of his wrath. “Well it’s the only way to keep you from making a scene, darling. Just don’t attract attention.” She glanced around before leaning back toward him, casually propping her elbow against the table and placing her chin in her hand, leaning in close to him. “I am right, aren’t I?”

The corner of his lip curled downward into a scowl, and he ran a palm over his slick black hair. It wasn’t so much that she had utterly figured him out (he suspected that she’d known of his disinterest in women for quite some time), but that she’d chosen this time and place to bring it up. Just to keep him from making a goddamn _scene_? Any one of these uniformed bastards would be happy to slap a pink triangle onto his chest and cart him off to god knows where. He was grateful for the dim lighting of the rustic hall, but suddenly the dusty mounted deer heads seemed to have very obtrusive eyes.

“So what if you are?” he whispered. “That hasn’t bothered you for the past three years. Why is it a problem now?” He regretted it the instant he asked, as he watched her face twist into a grimace of indignation.

“It’s a _problem_ because it’s keeping you from getting anywhere!” she all but growled, nails squealing against her own beer glass as she pulled it over. “I do not care about your… your… _abnormality_. I’ve come to accept that you’re the only man left in Stuttgart who isn’t interested in my body. And I’m just fine with that. But for Christ’s sake, if you don’t want me to turn you in myself, you need to stop acting like a pouf and _enlist_.”

With every word he felt his blood pressure rise, his arms feeling uncomfortably heavy, the skin feeling too tight. His jaw popped as he ground his molars together and tried to quickly find something to say. He looked away from her, pulling in a deep, shaky breath through his nose as he rubbed his hands together in his lap. The corner of his left eye twitched slightly. “Are you trying to extort me, sweetheart?” he whispered, glancing up at her from over the top of his glasses.

She finally smirked, taking a sip from her glass before setting it back down onto the table and reaching for her hand bag. “Something like that,” she said quietly, producing a silver cigarette case and popping it open. “I certainly think we can help each other out. More of an agreed symbiosis, if you will. Don’t think of it as blackmail. You need a cover, and I need security.” She placed the slim between her lips and leaned across the table, eyeing him expectantly.

He stared at her a moment, face blank to hide his bewilderment, before he snorted and reached for his coat. He fished through one of the inside pockets, producing a silver lighter that matched the cigarette case. She thought it was romantic, when he would light her cigarettes for her; it also was an excuse not to ruin her nail gloss. Leaning across the table, he flicked on the flame, holding it to the tip of the fag as she inhaled, intense blue eyes meeting sultry brown. “What are you proposing?” he asked quietly, snapping the lighter shut and sliding it into the pocket of his slacks.

She held the cigarette between her fingers, blowing the smoke away from his face and tapping the ash into his beer. “I think we should get married.”

She said it so casually that he was almost certain that he hadn’t heard her correctly. He felt his throat dry and tighten, and he couldn’t look at her any more. He felt his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands, wanting to collect his coat and just leave her there. But there were so many soldiers… He didn’t like how clever she was. She had utterly duped him.

“That’s it?” he asked quietly, eyes still roving over the throng of Schutzstaffel surrounding them.

She smiled, just as sweet and beautiful as she always appeared to be, and nodded. “That’s it. Women don’t have access to many opportunities these days. The best I’d be able to do is field nurse… But if I get _married_ , all I need to do is be a housewife. That’s what an ideal woman is these days, is it not?” She took another drag, shrugging her shoulders. “You already make plenty of money, and you’re only bound to make more. You’ll be away so often, no one will question if we don’t have a baby. All you have to do is take care of me. Do that, and we both get what we want. Nothing has to change between us.”

He searched her face through the haze of smoke, for any sign of deceit, or at this rate, madness. He didn’t want to admit that it made sense, and it almost seemed… safe. He wouldn’t have to worry about being exposed. Sharing a hefty paycheck and a house with her was a small price to pay for the medical opportunity of a lifetime. She had thought this out thoroughly, and the more he turned it over in his head, the better it sounded. His… abnormality, as she had called it, wasn’t the chief concern for him; his first love would always be science.

He looked down at the table, rubbing his fingers over the smooth plane of wood before exhaling a heavy breath. “I… suppose you’ll be wanting a ceremony or something?”

She bit her bottom lip innocently and shrugged her dainty shoulders, batting her eyelashes like a teenager again. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” she admitted, tapping the ash off of her cigarette once again, before he growled and snatched it away from her. She pouted, pressing her brows together as she watched him take a drag of it himself. “I thought you didn’t smoke,” she whined, holding her fingers out for its return expectantly.

Scowling, he blew the smoke over his shoulder. “I am starting to see the appeal. Now seems like the perfect time to start.” He looked back to her face, caught her sly smile and lidded eyes. He then stared down to her eager hand, her red nails, her slender fingers; fingers that waited for a cigarette and a ring.


	10. Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in Düsseldorf, Germany, 1966.

If one thing could be said about her, it was that she was loyal.

She had so many good reasons and opportunities to leave. He’d honestly expected her to do just that. Stuttgart had been bombed several times over the course of the war, making it a particularly dangerous place to live at the time. When the war ended and Germany had fallen so hard and so bitterly, he was subjected to a very lengthy, grueling trial, resulting in an acquittal and the revocation of his medical license. All the reasons she wanted to get married in the first place, the security, the money, the status, were all destroyed along with his home, career and title. He literally had nothing left to offer her.

And still, she stayed.

For twenty-seven years, she stayed. She’d never once asked for a divorce, and he never once asked why. If she was willing to stay… he was willing to keep her. Most legitimate marriages didn’t last that long and yet their little charade had managed to endure through overwhelming differences and adversity.

The small apartment in Düsseldorf hadn’t been the home she’d always dreamed of, but then again, her whole life had turned out a little different from those childhood fantasies. If she had been asked thirty years ago if she expected to be a hospice nurse, living in a disturbingly clean and organized little apartment in Dusseldorf with a retired Nazi doctor who couldn’t even give her a child, she would have laughed at the thought. However, one aspect of her wishful, adolescent thinking was fulfilled: she was married to the only man she had ever loved.

Though, love was perhaps too strong a term.

He was the only man she had ever depended on. The only man she had trusted enough to take care of her. Sure, she had coerced him into a sham marriage, but time had molded their farce into something terrifyingly close to domestic. The arrangement they had created in their years together was now smooth, comfortable. They took care of each other. She no longer had a hold over him, her threat to spill his secret irrelevant now. He no longer resented her for it. Either one of them could have left at any time. Neither one of them really wanted to.

The only thing they couldn’t provide for each other was sex.

From the outside, it wasn’t overly absurd to assume the man was a cuckold; his wife leaving at all hours of the night on the weekends with other men with stylish cars. But no one else saw that he was guilty of doing the exact same thing. The only rule was that they were never allowed to bring anyone home. It was mutually obeyed. Every Friday and Saturday night at 6 o’clock, they would place their wedding bands in the ash tray between their separate beds in the master bedroom, and for the few hours until morning, they were no longer husband and wife.

The years had calmed her considerably though. She wasn’t the Hollywood beauty she’d been in her twenties. Men didn’t flock the way they used to. War had aged her, aged them both, but her priorities remained the same, and after the war, those priorities were compromised.

Her husband could no longer provide for her, the way he used to. Without a medical license, the closest thing he could get to staying in the medical field was working a disappointing day job as a pharmacist. She still believed he was far too brilliant to be working a pedestrian job with a pedestrian salary. So when she saw an opportunity for him… she had jumped at the chance.

The blue envelope could have easily ended up in the rubbish bin. There was no return address, no stamp, nothing but his name and a faded, stylized watermark that read _Builders League United_. And it was its curious, nondescript nature and the fact it was written in English that drove him tear into it first as he made his way back to the sitting room. He tucked the rest of the mail under his arm as he slid out the single sheet of paper, stopping short in the doorway.

“What the hell is this?” he whispered, the empty envelope falling to the floor with the rest of the mail as he stared down at the letter in his hands. For a moment, he seemed unable to read the letter in its entirety, his eyes skimming and skipping around to words like ‘uninhibited medical research’, ‘Guerrilla warfare’ and ‘we received your credentials.’

She looked up from the scarf she was knitting, arching a finely tweezed brow as she reached for her cigarette resting on the glass ash-tray between their chairs in the small sitting room. She considered his face, and then gazed down to the blue envelope on the floor, and back up to the letter trembling in his hands. She smiled. “I didn’t think they would write back so soon…”

His head snapped up to look at her, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “You know what this is?” he asked, his voice slowly beginning to rise in volume.

She set the needles and yarn down in her lap before reaching out a hand and snapping her fingers. “I think I do, though I honestly thought you’d be more excited about it.” She held her hand out expectantly, a gesture he was all too familiar with.

But he did not give her the letter. The rest of the post abandoned on the floor, he sat down on the edge of his own arm chair, placing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward to properly read what could only be described as a contract; a paper agreement to be a Medic and a soldier in the civil war waging between Blutarch and Redmond Mann. The whole thing made very little sense, and gave very little information, stating he would find out more when he arrived to the BLU Base in Teufort, USA.

“You signed me up… to be a mercenary?” he asked, his short nails tearing small holes into the edges of the paper. It felt awfully familiar, this situation; the overwhelming impression that he had been duped coupled with the crushing urge to twist her neck. “How could you… How did you even…”

Her brown eyes hardened, immediately cutting him off. “You ought to be thanking me,” she hissed, snuffing out her cigarette in the ash tray. “You may pretend you’re content with this mediocre existence, but I clearly know what you want better than you do.” She leaned forward, snatching the letter from his hand and glancing over it. “If you want it put bluntly, yes, I did sign you up to be a mercenary. I also signed you up for a chance to return to medical practice. I know, you’re not cut out to be a field medic, but you’re even less cut out to be a goddamn pill pusher for the rest of your life!”

She tossed the letter back to him, which flitted in the air a few moments before he caught it, clutching it to his chest as he glared at her, before looking back down at it.

“It keeps you up at night,” she said quietly, considerably calmer now. “The fact you can no longer do the only thing you’ve ever loved. The war took that away from you. This war is going to give it back.”

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Once again, she had gone over his head. She had made a decision without his consent that was clearly made to benefit her. The projected pay was right on the front page of the contract. She’d carefully laid out this plan that would both get rid of him, and give her that security she’d signed up for 27 years ago. And though it had been years since the last time she’d done this… he hated to admit that she was right. As he looked over the paper once again, she was absolutely right. This stupid little war would get him back in the field, no questions asked or medical license required. It would even get him out of the country without so much as a background check on his passport. But he’d be damned if he’d admit defeat to her again.

Watching his internal struggles was always amusing. She picked up the knitting needles, the metal clicking together as she started on the blue scarf once again. He could take all the time he needed. In the end, she would still be right. It was just another offer that he could not refuse, and she would be sure to help him pack his bags.

He looked over to her, finally, his lips a thin line as he observed the smug look of satisfaction on her face. She knew she’d won. He knew he’d been beat. Again. He huffed and stood, finally retrieving the rest of the post from the floor as his sign of submission. Her grin widened subtly. He tossed the rest of the mail into her lap.

“Was there a classified ad for ex-Nazi-guns-for-hire in the paper?” he asked dryly, settling back into his chair as he picked up the letter, folding it and placing it back in its blue envelope.

She looked up from the pile of letters in her lap, quirking an eyebrow and wincing a little. “Actually…” she let the thought taper off.

He blinked, dumbfounded at what she was suggesting. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head, flipping through the mail, separating bills from personal notes. “These folks don’t seem very bright, sweetheart. Just very desperate…” She smiled and shrugged sweetly, using one of the knitting needles to slice open a letter. “I think it would be best, for the both of us, if you were to leave your wedding band behind. Don’t you agree?”

Her sudden shift in subject caught him off guard, looking up at her as he slid off his glasses. She wouldn’t look at him, though she could feel his eyes. He took another deep breath, folding up his glasses and placing them in the pocket of his vest. She didn’t have to say anything to make her intentions of this whole matter very clear. She wanted out. She wanted him out.

He couldn’t blame her.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly, watching her sort through the mail as he twisted the band on his finger.


	11. Satsifactory

The record player had completed its set long ago, and was still spinning on the desk, filling the air with muffed white noise and small pops as the needle dragged against the blank section of the disk. It had been several hours since Medic had begun his procedure on the teddy bear, too distracted by the task at hand to get up and change the record, and he was truthfully pleased with the progress. He couldn’t suppress the silly feeling of pride he got as he stuffed the old cotton back into the bear through a small hole between the seam of its neck and head. The gashes across the toys belly and face were skillfully mended, leaving very little visible evidence that there had ever been an accident. He’d reattached the arms and legs expertly, and he’d even improvised with replacing the missing ear atop the bears head, by cutting off the little stub of a tail the bear had on its backside and making a transplant. He assured the teddy bear that “Sacrifices must be made, _mein Freund_. You may not have a tail, but at least you von’t be deaf, ja?”

Once the bear was re-stuffed with its original cotton, Medic closed the final hole on the back of its neck. Done. Finally. Now he could at last get some rest. He turned the bear over in his hands, placing the needle between his lips, inspecting the seams and stitches he’d created by running his fingers across the minute scars on its belly. When he reached up to inspect the face, however, his fingers stilled.

_“Scheiße.”_

He slid his thumb over the two blank spaces on the bear’s face, where a pair of button eyes was supposed to go.

Medic huffed, dropping the bear onto his knees and grabbing over the hardhat that was still on the bed. He dragged his fingers though it, coming up empty. Had the eyes not been retrieved? They must have been lost on the battle field. He released a soft growl as he turned the hardhat upside down in desperation, but nothing fell out. He’d been able to improvise with the missing ear…

Tossing the hardhat back onto the bed, he picked up the small notion kit from the bedside table. Flipping open the lid, he pushed his fingers around the meager selection of buttons the kit contained, mostly replacements for dress shirts or fastenings for slacks. Nothing big enough to pass off as goggle eyes, and none of them even had matching pairs. He snapped the kit shut and placed it back on the bedside table, slumping back against the pillows.

The Medic glared down at the teddy bear, crossing his arms irritably over his chest as he tried to find a solution. There was no way he could just leave it in its current state. Aside from his overpowering need for perfection, toys without eyes were just plain creepy. Sliding the tip of his tongue over the needle still between his teeth, he averted his eyes from the bear in his lap to instead glare across the room at his open closet, eyes landing on his lab coat.

His shoulders slumped forward.

_“Scheiße…”_

The answer was staring him right in the face. The brown buttons of his lab coat would be perfect, and he knew it. They were large enough, they were the appropriate color, and there were three for him to choose from… But they were also on his damn lab coat. Was he really going to surrender his uniform for the sake of a toy that belonged to a man that he barely knew?

He looked back down at the bear in his lap, who faced back up at him with a completely blank, unfinished stare.

‘Sacrifices must be made, _mein Freund,_ ’ his own words repeated back to him.

_“Scheiße!”_

With an aggravated growl, he removed the needle from his mouth and the bear from his lap, placing both on the bedside table before sitting up and swinging his legs off of the bed. Grabbing the small pair of scissors, he stood, walking across the bedroom, first stopping at his desk to turn off the record player, then making his way to the closet. He glared down at is lab coat, not entirely sure why he was angry, as he had no one to blame but himself for coming up with the idea. Getting it over with quickly, he snipped off the bottom two buttons from the coat, staring down at both of them in his hand.

They were in the middle of a ceasefire… He would have time to order a new coat before he had to be in full uniform again, right? He stood in the door of his closet, staring down at the buttons in his hand, clutching the pair of scissors with the other. If he could only justify this illogical course of action with a logical solution, then he would feel like such a fool. Why in the world was he even doing this?

“Doktor?”

The Medic snapped out of his circling thoughts, looking over his shoulder at the groggy Heavy in his bed, who was now lying on his back, propped up on his elbows so he could look at the Medic with squinty eyes.

Oh right… That’s why he was doing this.

Medic’s face immediately softened, his grip on the scissors loosening, his irritation over the button issue fading. He turned to face the Heavy, walking back toward the bed.

 _“Liebling_ , vhat are you doing up?” he asked, placing the scissors and buttons on the side table before sitting down on his side of the bed once again as he looked down at the bleary face of his Heavy.

The Russian pouted, rolling over onto his stomach, grabbing the tiny pillow in his massive arms and placing his head down on it, still facing the Medic. “Felt you move,” he explained, voice still laden with sleep. “Bed does not feel same when you are not in it. Woke me up.” He perked up his head a little bit, focusing his eyes past the Medic and to the bedside table, where he spotted the teddy bear propped up under the reading lamp. “You are almost finished, da?” he questioned, a small smile tugging at his lips as he let his head thud back down against the pillow.

Medic returned Heavy’s small smile, looking back over his shoulder at the bear. “Ja,” he answered, grabbing the bear before pushing himself fully back onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows once more. “It’s nearly finished.”

Heavy watched with sleepy eyes as the Medic threaded another needle, placing it between his teeth again as he lined up the button onto the bears face and began stitching it on. Heavy narrowed his eyes on the button, before shifting to look over his shoulder at the closet, where Medic had been when he woke up, then back to the button. It clicked, and he smirked, settling back down into the pillow. “You took buttons from your coat?” he asked, teasingly.

Medic paused his stitching, face flushing as he refused to face the Heavy. “Zhey vere zee only vones available!” he defended loudly, returning to the sewing with abandon. He was too embarrassed to admit it, but he was an open book in front of Heavy as well.

Heavy snorted, watching his lovers hands as they began to attach the second button to the bears face. “You are going soft, Doktor,” he insisted. “You are big baby.”

“Says the one who vanted to fix zee Teddybar in zee first place!” Medic scoffed, finally tying the last knot and snipping off the last bit of thread. “Zhere.” He set down the scissors and needle, holding the bear in front of Heavy’s face. “Vhat do you think?”

The Heavy pulled one arm out from under the pillow, reaching out to take the small bear in his large hand and inspect it. He dragged his thumb over the mends and button eyes, before nodding in approval. “Is satisfactory,” he teased, keeping his face very serious, as if honestly scrutinizing the work.

“Satis… Satisfactory!? Do you know how long I’ve been vorking on zhis?” the Medic huffed, snatching the bear from Heavy’s hand, who began laughing at his lovers sensitivity, the action shaking the mattress beneath them. Medic stood, picking up the hardhat from the bed and placing both the bear and hat on the desk as Heavy’s laughter tapered off, and they were left in comfortable silence. Medic couldn’t help but smile as he collected the sewing supplies from the side table, placing them back in their designated drawer in the desk before he began removing the rest of his work clothes. Heavy watched, head still on the pillow in his arms.

“Are you feeling better?” Medic asked, hanging up his shirt and slacks in the closet, before walking back toward the bed in his briefs and socks, turning off the reading light along the way. Moonlight filtered in through the open window, taking a moment for both of their eyes to adjust.

Heavy held open the sheets, which the Medic slid under gratefully. “Da, much better,” he replied, dropping the sheets and shifting to lay on his side, wrapping a large arm around his lovers waist and pulling the smaller man close to his chest. “You did good job, Doktor,” he said quietly.

The Medic smiled in the darkness, sliding his glasses off of his face before folding them up and dropping them on the bedside table. He then shifted closer, curling up against Heavy’s chest and sighing contently, pressing his forehead to the man’s collar bone. “ _Danke, Leibling._ Ve shall return it in zee morning,” he breathed, sliding thin arms up around the Heavy’s shoulders as he pressed their lips together.

Heavy grinned, returning the slow, languid kiss as he held the Medic close. “I am sorry… I couldn’t keep… you company,” he murmured between kisses. “What did you think about, while I was asleep?”

Medic paused a moment, looking down at the expectant face of his lover. He smiled and shook his head, pressing their lips together once more. “Nothing of any importance, _Schatz_.”


	12. Seams

The pain was excruciating.

Everything hurt. Quite literally, _everything_ hurt. The Engineer had been through some nasty respawns before, but never had the pain carried over like this. His head pounded, his limbs were stiff and achy, and he feared the moment he opened his eyes, the sick feeling in his stomach would only get worse. And the _smell_. Jesus Christ, what was _that smell?_ The respawn room did _not_ smell like… like whatever the hell that was…

So… So that meant he wasn’t in the respawn room. He was somewhere else. He tried to remember, the cogs in his brain sticking as he tried moving, only to instantly regret it when a wave of fresh agony swept through him. But the slight movement of his legs and hands confirmed that he was not on a cot. He was on the floor. How the hell did he get on the floor?

He finally decided it was time to open his eyes, as much as he desperately did not want to. But he wasn’t going to get any answers lying flat on his back on the floor…

The first peek was just as unbearable as he thought it would be, sunlight piercing his retinas and leaving splotches of white and purple in his vision. But millimeter by millimeter, he opened his eyes, adjusting to the lightly slowly. As his vision began to focus and his eyes began to dilate to accommodate the light, he saw… very little. He saw a concrete ceiling with nothing on it, and thin, open windows to the left and right of him. Once his vision had finally returned to him, his other senses started to wake up.

His mouth was as dry as the desert outside, and he was pretty sure his breath could gag a maggot. Then there was that smell, that he was slowly starting to realize was not a beer soaked skunk, but himself. He lulled his head to the side to see the pile of Blu Streak bottles scattered on the floor to his right. That explained the beer smell… but the skunk…

Finally, it was as if someone had turned on a television, forgetting that the volume was on full blast. His hearing returned with a vengeance and his head filled with the sound of rancorous snoring from somewhere above him. He tilted his head back, straining his eyes as he looked upside down at the Sniper, who was sitting up against the corner of the room, his hat placed over his face, his arms folded over his chest and his legs tucked up against his arms. Sniper, whom he had shared beers with the night before, because Sniper had offered to share, because Engineer had looked depressed, because…

The Engineer let out a pained groan as he rolled onto his stomach and crawled onto his hands and knees. He grabbed the nearest window sill and hauled his heavy body up, leaning against the cold concrete wall as another wave of sick roiled through him and he had to swallow back the threatening breech of his esophagus. Once he felt steady, that he wasn’t going to evacuate his stomach and that the room wasn’t going to spin out from under him, he chanced a look over his shoulder.

Was this really happening?

Did he really just wake up on the floor, surrounded by beer bottles and pot roaches and smelling like he’d just spent the night with… well… with Sniper?

Had he really felt so goddamn sorry for himself that he let himself fall down that hard and that low? That he would just disregard the respect he had for his family and for himself? He remembered now, telling himself last night that he _deserved_ it.

He let out another groan, covering his face with his hands. The groan transformed into a whimper.

Had he really been that _selfish_?

* * *

 

He needed to fix this. Now.

As desperately as Engineer wanted a shower, a change of clothes, and a cup of coffee, they would all have to wait. What he needed was to get Teddy Roosebelt out of the respawn room, call his daughter, and convince himself that was not as egotistical as his wife. He had left the Sniper up in the nest, thinking that he would thank the Australian later for the lovely evening, and then punch the bastard in the teeth for letting the Engineer lose control like that. His eyes were practically burning with angered tears as he tore through the staircases and hallways toward the respawn room, boots tromping on the concrete, fists clenched at his sides, ready to utterly destroy any Scout or Soldier that got in his way.

The doors to the respawn room were right in front of him, and the Engineer was ready to needlessly and dramatically kick them open to release some pent up frustration. Just as he was about to raise his boot, the doors swung open on their own, causing the Texan stumble over his boots and stupidly bump right into the Medic.

The Medic caught the Engineer, quickly grabbing the shorter mans shoulders and holding him upright, pausing a moment to make sure they were both steady. “Herr Engineer!” the Medic greeted, before he was suddenly assaulted with the sickening smell of stale alcohol and recreational drugs… a terribly familiar scent. As the Engineer looked dumbly up at the Medic as he tried to regain his bearings, the German didn’t even try to hide his grimace. “Did you spend zee evening with Sniper?” he asked brusquely.

Engineer felt his cheeks flush and he took a step back from the Medics hands. He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his thick neck. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, already ashamed by his actions, now even more so that someone else knew about them.

Medic wiped his hands off on his slacks, as if the smell had transferred directly onto his skin and he could clean it off. Engineer noticed the German was not wearing his gloves, nor his coat. “I am afraid so, _mein Freund_ ,” Medic answered, taking a moment to consider is team mate before adding, “You look like shit, too.”

The Engineer balked, looking stunned for a moment before he pressed his brows together, glaring up at the much taller Medic as he balled his fists. “Well, thank you for that observation, partner,” he grunted, pushing past the Medic in the direction toward the lockers.

Medic sighed and reached out, grabbing Engineer by the shoulder and stopping him. “Wait,” he interjected, and Engineer turned around to face him, glower still etched on his face. “I am sorry. It vhas not my place, nor my business.” The Engineer still looked skeptical and irritated. Medic sighed again and pulled his hands back, holding them up defensively. “It is just in my nature to be concerned. Zhat kind of impulsive behavior is not typical of you, Engineer. Zhat is all.”

Engineer searched the Medic’s face a moment, finding little more than concern, and maybe even compassion. He let out a sigh, dropping his head and releasing his fists as he shook his head. “You’re right,” the Texan said quietly, before looking back up to the German and shrugging his shoulders, nodding. “You’re right.” It was all he could say. It sure as hell wasn’t ‘typical behavior’ for him to be so self-centered, to get shitfaced and let himself welter in his own self-pity. It wasn’t ‘typical behavior’ to lose his composure and self respect and let himself get to that point. But he couldn’t tell that to the Medic. He couldn’t tell that to anyone.

The Medic looked over the shorter man once again, before offering what could only be a small, genuine, sympathetic smile; a rare occurrence. “If you need anything, Herr Engineer,” he started delicately. “Anything at all, please, do not hesitate to stop by zee medical bay. I’m sure I can do something for zhat pain I’m quite positive you must be in.”

The Engineer was suddenly reminded of the splitting headache and sore back he’d momentarily forgotten he had. He winced slightly, rubbing his neck once again, before nodding his head once in acknowledgement. “Much obliged. Uhm. Thank you.”

The Medic shook his head and his hands. “Nein. It is my job, after all. Just take care-”

“Docktor?”

Both men turned to look at the doorway, where Heavy stood, holding two mugs, one of black coffee, the other pale brown with a tea tag hanging off of the side. The Heavy looked startled to see the Engineer, seeming to shrink back a bit, before looking to the Medic expectantly.

The Medic paused, face blank for a moment before he forced a trite smile, looking back to the Texan. “Good day, Herr Engineer,” he said, bowing his head before walking to the Heavy, taking the mug of tea from his large hand and heading out of the respawn room. Heavy nodded to the Engineer in both greeting and farewell, before turning to follow the Medic out. Engineer briefly saw the Medic slip his fingers into the Heavy’s empty hand before the supply room doors swung shut.

The Engineer stood there a moment, contemplating what had just happened, the conversation he’d just had. He let out a long sigh through his nose, pressing his fingers against his eyes, before finally returning his attention to his locker, to the whole reason any of this had even happened; the whole reason why he was here, why he felt so terrible, and why he’d been such an _ass_.

He swallowed down that sick feeling again, before closing the distance between himself and the locker, and reaching up onto the stop shelf. There was only a few seconds of groping around before his fingers closed around the rim of his hardhat. He closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath as he pulled the hat out of the cubby, lowered it down and held it in both of his hands. He let out the steadying breath, peeked open one eye, and nearly had a heart attack.

He had been preparing himself to face the awful truth, to see the damage in real light, without his goggles to obstruct his view. He’d been ready for shredded remains and carnage; to feel sick and guilty.

The hard hat fell to the floor with a clatter as he held the very solid, very real Teddy Roosebelt in his shaking hands.

There was a brief instant when the Engineer was positive he had finally lost his mind. His memories whirled around, to the explosion, the respawn, the panic and the self loathing. This teddy bear had been a decimated pile of rags 15 hours ago. But the toy that he held was undeniably Teddy Roosebelt. He felt his legs turn to jelly, and he stumbled back a few steps, calves hitting the edge of a cot before he heavily sat down, staring at the toy, completely unbelieving.

It was then that he noticed the stitches.

His pounding heart began to calm down as he ran his fingers over the long, minuscule seams that ran across the face and body of the toy. He couldn’t stop touching, tugging at the legs and arms, noticing subtle, very small differences. He turned the bear over to look at its back. The tail was missing. His fingers lifted to the ears, one being slightly smaller than the other now. He turned it back over, looking at the face, tracing his fingers over the button eyes, now a lighter shade of brown, slightly larger than before.

His sick feeling was gone. The pain in his head and in his heart was gone. He held the bear tight to his chest, taking long, slow breaths as he stared down at the floor, is mind filled with so many questions, and yet he wasn’t about to try and go find an answer for any of them. Not right now. Not yet. After several minutes of sitting, and holding, and wondering, he stood, tucking the bear under his arm as he headed toward the doors, his hat forgotten. The shower, change of clothes, coffee, the Medic; all forgotten, as he weaved through the hallways on the main floor.

He stepped into the phone booth, only taking a moment to look over his shoulder before taking a seat and grabbing the handset with his Gunslinger. He dialed the number, with all of the confidence he had been lacking the day before, placed the receiver to his ear and waited, counting each ring, until.

“Hello?”

Dell paused, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh as he clutched Teddy Roosebelt with his real hand.

“Hey, baby doll.”


End file.
